Tribes
Feral Beryl married Bill Sensible - a brown shoe salesmen They lived for a while in Strawberry Hill Then came the schism Reason: Post-Imperialism
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: Poetry
September 8, 2016
September 8, 2016
Homo Deus
Homo Deus rises far too early, doing nobody no favours, plugs in the cat and stares mindfully at a cherished hologram
Grand auto thieves scamper for cover across the kitchen ceiling, Spider Siddall and the gang know when to err on the side of caution
It is now time to retrieve the clavicle from the birdbath, a delicate task demanding scant attention for those bent on self-destruction
The Tannoy erupts into life, someone in Patagonia has decapitated a backpacker with a wayward pitch of the bolus
Despite nemesis and a string of letters to the local authorities, a group of birds persists in the annoying practice of respirating squawkily
September 7, 2016
pharmakon
Changes on the way
This takes longer than a day…
Five hogs is far too many
Garden full of junk
Take it as it is
Forget about it
When I cannot write
I write
i ca nn otw rite
There is nothing to
write about
when I cannot
write so I write
ican
no
twr
ite
when I can
garden full of junk
this takes longer than a day
forget about it
change is on the way
take it as it comes
five hogs is enough
when is day afternoons
go on and on
forever
September 7, 2016
Beguinage
Seven Books,
spider words,
snuffed snow
black candle.
A leeward window draft.
Please reprise the reprise.
Axminster Aztec
brick brown rug.
Time to go south,
flight to light.
Nice.
There to remain in sunshine nights.
Mornings open doors to lazuli
lapping the boulevard.
Coy smell of fish, cognac, and coffee.
Dogs yelp gulls off:
Jazzzzzzzzz…..
September 7, 2016
Greens
maybe tangelo looking up first thing see i want to fall in love eventually one day just to feel how it felt looking up first thing i see your pumpkin orange gloves
September 6, 2016
‘Awe! That Fall…’
bum sore after Sunday
drunken stumbling clunking fall
loose green sock cops blame…
September 6, 2016
Aragon Nite
Tomorrow is not happening yet—adverse climactic features, heavy sweaty day scowls disapprovingly down, sparkless key bashers bang away down tin pan alley,
becket wrote endgame in such conditions staring down at Santé Prison in one second on a grey autumn day in Newcastle, Co. Down in the year of our Ludd 2016.
Mother-of-Pearl skies loom, make for a luminous emptiness, a milk-ivory lamina patina, we inmates parallel such lineage for diversion in my dowdy sweatshop.
The relief of Mafeking Head! The whirligig dances of the Dervish push no rivers, pull no punches at swim in the holy whole of holies
When they ask Jimmy the Greek to ‘resolve a wager before war breaks out, is that the sun or the moon up there?’, he gives his droll stock response:
‘there is no point in asking me as I hail from the Craic of Doom, Doomsville, Doomistan…’, and goes about his mail order business with added gusto.
September 6, 2016
Lo Energy Sport
no great hopes for this
one—no obligations or
contracts to fulfil
all hours are zero round here
countdown to entropy
always commences with
your starter for ten
September 6, 2016
treading water
quiet slow warm clean
recovery:
Great Sea Voyages of
Discovery—
What makes us stare at
open windows opposite
black as television sets
when there’s nothing worth watching?
just another empty room
exactly the same as this
‘cept the other way round
now that is quite interesting
Grimbeau 